


a sun not yet seen

by red0aktree



Series: Soulmate AU [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Fix-It, Fluff, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Non-Linear Narrative, Soulmate-Identifying Timers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-08
Updated: 2015-05-08
Packaged: 2018-03-29 13:23:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3897913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/red0aktree/pseuds/red0aktree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're soulmates, it's etched in the stars, written in their blood. They've been destined for each other since time began. </p><p>The only problem is, they can't seem to figure that out.  </p><p>(The story of how Steve and Pietro met on the battlefield, their clocks reached zero, and they were too busy to notice.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	a sun not yet seen

> one.  
>  He burns like holiness, like glory, like the fire of a sun not yet seen and you can’t help but stare.  
>  He is fire and ash and burning, burning, burning.  
>  (Fire was not made to be held in human skin.)
> 
> two.  
>  He is rage and ruin, sorrow etched into the space when bone meets muscle.  
>  You don’t think he’ll ever die.
> 
> three.  
>  Fire always burns itself out.
> 
> - _Only The Sun Would Be Brighter_ \- Keith J. Castillo 

 

* * *

 

It started with a war. Steve is used to that though. All of his best beginnings were born of war. This beginning was a countdown, a firefight. It was brutal and beautiful. It was a boy with white hair and a moment that had passed before either had the chance to see it.

 

* * *

  

It’s June of 1933 and Bucky is asking him curiously, “Does it bother you that we don’t have soul marks?”

Steve rolls over onto his stomach, the comfortable carpet soft against his elbows as he props himself up on them. Steve watches Bucky for a moment, studying the way he is laying on the couch above him. “No,” he says finally. “It just means our soul mates haven’t been born yet.”

“It could mean that we don’t have any,” Bucky worries. He doesn’t look up from his comic book, but his eyes have stopped moving. He isn’t reading, only pretending to.

“We’ll get our marks, Buck. Just be patient.”

 

* * *

 

Bucky isn’t. He’s irritable and agitated and hides his forearm, angry at the skin for its absence of numbers. As Steve and Bucky grow older, their arms remained void of their soul clocks. “We’re pedophiles, Rogers,” Bucky would tease. “If we get our soul marks now, that means our mates are twenty years younger than us. Gotta ask yourself if that’s worth going for.”

“They’re our soul mates, Bucky. Age isn’t going to matter,” Steve would say, trying to convince himself as much as he was Bucky.

Steve would watch Bucky sometimes, as kids, and even more so as adults, as they fought beside one another in the Howling Commandos. He would study Bucky’s solid profile, the thin lines of his hands. Sometimes Steve would find himself wishing he would have had his mark when he met Bucky, just so he could have watched it count down to zero.

 

* * *

 

It’s December of 1945 and Bucky is growling, “Fuck our soul mates,” against Steve’s neck, their breathing hot and mingled. Their words are whispered, hidden within the canvas of their tent. They are somewhere deep in the Soviet Union, stuck between battle after battle.

“That’s the goal, isn’t it?” Steve ask before pressing his lips to Bucky’s. Bucky lets out a snort of laughter.

“No, Rogers. I mean _fuck_ them. Forget them,” Bucky presses his hands to Steve shoulders, pinning him to the bed. “Let’s get married.”

“We aren’t soul mates, Buck,” Steve surges upward to capture Bucky’s lips in his, but Bucky pulls away.

“Might as well be.”

Steve didn’t give Bucky an answer. Not that it mattered anyway, the courts didn’t even consider marriages without matching soul marks.

 

* * *

 

Bucky died three weeks later. He didn’t have a soul mark.

 

* * *

 

It’s April 2014 and Steve carries a broken boy close to his chest. He’s pale but not yet cold and Steve is so _damn_ angry. They weren’t friends, they hardly knew each other, but he was just a kid.

Steve places Pietro’s body softly on the carrier ship. Steve had known it wasn’t likely that their whole team would survive this, but he had hoped it wouldn’t be one of the twins. There was something hopeful about them, something that spoke of the future. Steve smoothed a hand over the boy’s white hair, and closes his eyes for a moment. His whole body aches. It could be from battle, or it could be from sorrow, he isn’t sure.

“Helen Cho can fix this, can’t she?” Clint asks from somewhere to Steve’s left. Steve opens his eyes, and catches Clint’s stare. He looks miserable. Steve doesn’t mention it.

“I hope so.” Steve means it.

Beneath Steve’s uniform is his mark, stark against his soft skin. It was there the day he awoke from the ice, counting down slowly, one second at a time. It didn’t look the same as it had the day he had awoken though. It was stopped now, a solid line of zeros.

He’d met his soul mate. Now if he could only figure out _when_.

 

* * *

 

The first person he had told was Natasha. She would understand. Natasha had met her soul mate on a mission, just as Steve had. The only problem was, when you’re in the fray, there isn’t time to check your mark. Sometimes you feel it when you meet your soul mate, sometimes you don’t. Sometimes it feels a hell of a lot like a bullet through the side, or an ultrafast shove in the shoulder.

Neither of them knew this of course.

“I met my soul mate,” Steve blurts out, standing in the doorway of Natasha’s room. Loki’s scepter was safe in Tony’s lab, and the rest of the team was settling in from a mission well accomplished.

Natasha hesitates, her eyes flickering to the exposed line of zeros on Steve’s forearm. “In battle?” She asks, ushering him inside. Steve ducks inside the door, and begins to pace.

“Yes.”

“Any idea when?”

“None. I knew I was getting close, my numbers were really low. I just, we got called to battle, you know? And didn’t check until we got back to the quinjet.”

Natasha watched Steve pace, her smile a bit sad, and a bit hopeful.

“Well, Rogers, guess you’re a part of the ‘lost soul mate club’ then, aren’t you?”

 

* * *

 

It’s April of 2014 and a boy with white hair weeps, his eyes trained on his own rows of zeros. His sister watches, but she doesn’t touch. It isn’t her place. He must mourn, mourn for something he got but never wanted, for a love he knows he’ll never be able to have.

Pietro doesn’t know who, he doesn’t even know when, he just knows every new person he met today wanted him dead. The god and the assassin and the archer. It could be any of them.

He doesn’t once consider the supersoldier.

 

* * *

 

It’s January of 2015 and Steve is laughing. He’s sitting in Clint’s kitchen, enjoying a quiet break from the superhero life. The Maximoff twins are there, sitting across from Steve at the wooden table. Natasha is there too, as well as all of the Bartons, including the youngest. Nathaniel Pietro Barton. Natasha has the infant clutched to her chest as they all talk, celebrating the birth of the new baby.

Steve watches Natasha for a moment as Clint launches into a story about when Lila was only two years old and got a rock stuck in her ear. Natasha presses her nose to the baby’s soft hair, and smiles. Steve feels compelled to look away.

He finds himself watching Pietro, who also seems engrossed by the sight of Natasha and Nathaniel. There isn’t tenderness in his gaze though, instead there is anger. Clint laughs, and Steve looks away a moment, long enough to watch Clint finish his story. When he looks back, Pietro is gone.

Steve sits up straighter, catching Wanda’s eye. She raises an eyebrow as Steve tilts his head toward the empty seat. Wanda shrugs her shoulder, but seems unconcerned. She turns to speak to Natasha, but Steve catches a quick flick of her wrist.

Steve wonders for a moment if the only reason he is standing to search out the boy is because Wanda used her powers to convince him to. He finds, however, that he doesn’t much mind being brainwashed in circumstances such as these.

He is outside in the country air before he can reconsider. He stares out across the horizon, searching for a familiar shock of white hair. What he sees instead is a silver blur. Before he can react, Steve finds himself back inside the foyer of the Barton house, the front door closed behind him.

Steve sighs and turns around, once more stepping outside. Steve is stubborn, and he isn’t going to give up just because Pietro decided to manhandle him back inside.

Back on the porch sees the boy, this time standing stock still. He has his arms crossed, and he scowls at Steve from his position at the bottom of the stairs. Steve notices the length of his sleeves, the way he always keeps his mark covered. He knows many choose to do so. Steve himself is not one of them. It’s foolish, perhaps, but he is always half-hoping that his soul mate will just waltz back into his path.

Steve doesn’t say anything as he steps forward, lowering himself into a sitting position on the top step. He considers Pietro for a moment before looking past him to the horizon once more. Pietro let’s out a huff, and steps back into Steve’s line of sight, his scowl still in place.

“You’re blocking my view,” Steve says simply.

“It is intentional,” Pietro says. “Go back to the party.”

“I’d rather watch the sunset, if you don’t mind.” Steve scoots over just a touch, allowing Pietro to sit if he chooses to.

“Are you here to ask about my feelings?” Pietro asks. He doesn’t sound as angry anymore, though.

“No,” Steve says. “But I’m here to listen if you feel like offering.”

Pietro doesn’t. But he does sit, taking the spot beside Steve, their shoulders barely brushing. They return inside once the stars are clear against the sky. They don’t speak a word in the time that passes between.

 

* * *

 

It is April 2014 and Steve is carrying Pietro’s lifeless body to Helen Cho’s lab. He isn’t sure why, it just feels like something he has to do. He places him delicately on the bed, letting the doctors begin their furious work. He leaves shortly after.

Something in him feels hollow, though. Lost. He doesn’t dwell on why.

 

* * *

 

It’s October of 2013 and Steve is tracing the lines of his soul numbers. He thinks about Bucky, hidden somewhere across the world. Except, he isn’t really Bucky anymore, is he? Sam watches Steve carefully. They’re still in the hospital, Steve’s stitches healing slower than he’s used to, and claustrophobia setting in like a sickness in his bones.

“You okay there, man?” Sam asks, concerned. Steve nods solemnly. He doesn’t say anything for a while, before suddenly turning toward Sam.

“I thought it was going to be him.” 

“Your soul mate?”

“Yeah,” Steve sounds sad. “I guess it’s stupid, but when I saw him again, found out he was alive… I couldn’t wait to check. To see if the change in his personality meant anything to the mark. Just to see if my numbers were zero yet. But… But I still have three years to go apparently.”

“The three years will be worth the wait man, I promise.” Sam would know. He’d met his long ago. The time they’d had together had been worth every minute of the wait, even if it had been cut short.

“I know it will but I--” Steve frowns in frustration. “I wanted it to be Bucky, that’s all. From the time we were kids. I wished it was him.”

“You don’t get to pick your soul mate, Steve. That’s what makes it magic.”

 

* * *

 

It’s March 2015 and Tony is saying, “It’s not magic, it’s science. You see, I’ve had a breakthrough--” But Steve doesn’t want to hear the rest of the sentence. He stands abruptly, and leaves the room. No one seems to notice. Sam is far too involved in Tony’s presentation, and even Natasha seems interested. The rest of the team is chatting idly, Rhodey and the Vision exchanging jokes, and Wanda lounging on the couch with Pepper.

The team doesn’t see much of Tony since he left the Avengers, and Steve would like to stay and listen, but he can’t handle hearing about soul mates right now. He’s separated himself from his soul mate in his mind. He doesn’t want it explained in science, or in faith or spirituality either.

Steve is so wrapped up in his own unease he doesn’t notice Pietro slip from the room for the same reason.

In the adjoining hallways Pietro watches Steve as he trudges down the hall, an act out of character for the super soldier. Pietro thinks of the line of zeros on Steve’s arm. He’s seen them enough to understand why Steve left the room.

“Are they dead?” Pietro asks, just a blur before he appears at Steve’s side. Steve jumps, looking over his shoulder at the boy. Pietro has no tact, this is true. But Steve likes his honesty.

“Who?” Steve asks, though he’s sure he knows.

“Your soul mate,” Pietro answers, pointing to Steve’s forearm.

Steve thinks of Bucky. Then he thinks of his real soul mate, whom it’s unlikely he’ll ever meet again. He isn’t sure how to answer, so he shrugs. “Can’t say.”

“You don’t know?” Pietro sounds horrified.

“Nope, sure don’t,” Steve smiles, but it’s remorseful. He turns toward the stairs that lead to his portion of the building. Pietro follows. “But I don’t think they are. Sam says you feel it when they die.”

“And Sam would know?” Pietro hovers behind Steve as he pushes open his door. Pietro doesn’t wait to be invited inside, he simply follows. Steve finds that he doesn’t mind.

“Yeah, Sam would know.” Steve doesn’t say more. He makes his way to the kitchen, and raises the kettle in Pietro’s direction. Pietro nods once, and Steve fills it with enough water for the both of them. Pietro is silent as Steve prepares the tea.

“I heard that Natasha doesn’t know her soul mate,” Pietro says after several minutes of silence. Steve has his back turned to his teammate. “Is that true?”

“Yeah, it’s true.”

“But she has zeros.”

“That is also true,” Steve says, turning finally. Pietro looks lost, wringing his hands in his lap. He has taken a seat at Steve’s counter, watching with wide eyes. He has lovely eyes, a bit like ice, but even more like water.

“How?”

Steve shrugs. “It happens sometimes, when you’re too busy to check your mark all the time, and you meet them without knowing it. Natasha was on a mission, and when she got home she noticed. It’s just… how it is.”

“But she’s looking for them, right? She wants to find them?” Pietro sounds panicked.

“I don’t think she cares. She… I think, for her, it’s better if she never knows.”

Pietro runs his hands through his hair, causing it to look even more messy than usual. Steve watches calmly, letting the boy work out whatever he is thinking about. Steve is concerned, but it isn’t unusual for people to worry over their soul mates.

“Look, kid, I’m sure you’ll know when you meet yours. It’s unusual that situations like Natasha’s happen. If you just--”

“But it happened to you,” Pietro cuts him off, his pale eyes fierce.

“What?”

“It happened to you. You have zeros, but you don’t know if your soul mate is alive or dead. That means you don’t know them. That means, that means…” Pietro’s accent was sharp, his words fast.

“Maybe,” Steve begins as the kettle whistles. His back is to Pietro when he finishes the sentence. “Maybe I _have_ met them, and we just didn’t work out. Maybe we’re separate for a reason.” Steve isn’t sure why he lies.

When he turns around, Pietro is gone.

 

* * *

 

It’s April of 2014 and Steve is standing in the midst of a battle field. Pietro is beside him. They don’t say a word to each other, but their eyes meet for a moment. It’s an understanding. They’re no longer enemies, no longer just acquaintances. They’re teammates.

Less than an hour later, their eyes meet again. This time the understanding is gone. It is replaced with defiance. Steve pleads him not to run. He runs anyway.

 

* * *

 

It’s July of 2016 and Steve is standing in the midst of a battle field. Pietro is beside him. Their eyes meet, and this time they do speak to each other.

“Hey kid,” Steve yells. Pietro lost his earpiece an hour ago, but he’s stuck close to Steve ever since. He has much more self preservation now than he did when they fought beside each other in Sokovia. “What do you say we grab some Thai after this?”

Pietro’s eyes light up at the suggestion. Steve finds himself smiling, until the light abruptly leaves Pietro’s eyes. Steve hears the beam falling before he sees it. He raises his shield above his head, preparing for the impact. What comes, however, is not the force he was expecting.

Instead Steve feels a powerful push against his chest, and hears the impact a second later. He is pinned to a crumbling wall, Pietro’s hands wrapped around his biceps and his worried eyes scanning Steve’s face. Pietro seems to deem him unharmed soon enough though, because he steps back a touch and says, “Thai sounds good.” His hands are still holding Steve in place.

Steve grins. His smile fades a second later when reality returns. Standing just behind Pietro is a familiar face. Disfigured and twisted, certainly, but still familiar.

“Rumlow,” Steve growls, pushing Pietro aside and raising his shield. He steps in front of the speedster, safeguarding Pietro from the man before him.

“It’s Crossbones now, thanks to you,” Rumlow croaks, his burned mouth twisting into a sneer. “And you have something I want.” His hungry eyes land on Pietro, and Steve burns with anger.

“Pietro,” Steve whispers. “Run.” 

Pietro doesn’t. They don’t end up getting Thai food that night.

 

* * *

 

It’s March of 2015 and Steve is watching Pietro pace in circles. The new Avenger’s facility is shaped like a horseshoe. Steve lives at one end, Pietro at the other. From the great glass windows Steve can see Pietro pacing in his room.

On Steve’s counter sit two untouched cups of tea.

Pietro paces. It’s getting dark.

Steve picks up his cup and sips thoughtfully. Perhaps he should have been more placating toward the panicked boy. Perhaps he should have denied the conversation altogether.

Pietro paces. It’s now well past midnight.

Steve thinks about late night talks he used to have with Bucky. Discussions about what they would do if they ever met their soul mates, what they hoped they’d be like.

Pietro paces. It’s three a.m.

“Friday?” Steve speaks aloud, tilting his head upward to the ceiling. Friday functions like Jarvis had, but it isn’t the same.

“Yes, Captain?”

“Could you send a message to Pietro Maximoff for me?”

“Of course, sir.”

“Wonderful. Tell him to stop pacing and go to bed. It’s unhealthy.”

“Yes, sir,” Friday answers politely.

Steve watches Pietro through the window. Pietro freezes for a moment, face tilted toward the ceiling. After a second his expression contorts into something repulsive, and he turns directly toward Steve’s room. He steps deliberately toward the window, raising his middle finger in Steve’s direction. Steve gasps out a quiet laugh, surprised by Pietro’s reaction. Pietro only scowls, and darts around the curve of his windows.

He draws his curtains closed in a fluid movement.

 

* * *

 

It’s July of 2016 and Steve once again holds Pietro in his arms. This time he is not lifeless and riddled with bullets, but writhing and whimpering with pain. Steve clutches him close, and shouts order at the Vision, who has aided in the fight against Crossbones. The Vision nods once, and darts toward Crossbones, intent on following Captain’s orders.

Pietro tries, to the best of his ability, to hide his agony. It is difficult though, and Steve knows. Steve knows because he can feel it. Whatever Rumlow injected Pietro with, it burns in Steve’s veins as well. It feels like fire and ice all at once, and Steve knows he is only experiencing a watered down version of what Pietro is.

Rumlow said he was doing it to “finish what Hydra started with the enhanced.” Steve assumed that meant him as well.

Steve lifts Pietro like he’s made of air. Pietro curls shaking fingers into the fabric of Steve’s uniform. “I can’t feel it,” he gasps. “I can’t feel it like I used to.”

Steve can’t be sure what the boy is referring to, and he doesn’t contemplate what it might be. Instead he runs. Runs to somewhere safe from the carnage, where they can be rescued.

“Natasha,” Steve calls through the connection. “Need a pick up immediately. Quicksilver’s down.”

“We see you,” Natasha’s voice rings in his ear. “Hold still.”

Steve stops, and lowers Pietro smoothly to the ground. The boy’s gray eyes are screwed shut, but he refuses to let go of Steve’s dirty uniform. Steve kneels beside Pietro, his arms still wrapped loosely around the smaller man.

“It’s okay,” Steve soothes. “We’ll get you on the jet, and we’ll find your sister and she can help. I promise she can help. We’ll even call Stark, he’ll know what’s going on.”

Pietro shakes his head.

“I can’t feel it,” he whimpers.

“Feel what?” Steve asks, stroking the sweaty white hair back from Pietro’s forehead.

“My powers,” he whispers brokenly. “They’re gone.”

Steve winces at the words. He can still feel the burning, it had started the minute Pietro had been injected. But even still it hurt less than Pietro’s words.

“It’s okay, kiddo. We’ll fix it. I’ll fix it.”

Natasha lands the quinjet. Steve places Pietro in it.

 

* * *

 

It’s May of 2015 and Steve returns home from a mission to find Fury in his kitchen. He and Pietro are laughing as they open the door, joking about the mission and the likelihood of Wanda ever going completing a mission without being picked up by the Vision at least once.

“At this point, it’s like their signature move,” Steve laughs, stopping at the sight of Fury’s somber expression. Pietro hesitates beside him, waiting for Steve to take initiative. “You know, I have a cell phone. It may come as a surprise but I do know how to use it.”

“I thought you’d like to hear this in person.”

“I see.” Steve glances at Pietro. Pietro’s gaze is fixed stoically on Fury.

“There is somebody here who you might want to see,” Fury states, waiting for Steve to understand.

Steve lets out a quiet gasp, and breathes a single word: “Bucky.”

 

* * *

 

It’s May 2014 and Pietro wakes up in an unfamiliar hospital bed. His sister weeps, and tells him she thought he was dead. He stretches his arms, and feels the new synthetic skin where bullet holes used to be. He weeps as well, because he wasn’t ready to die. Not yet.

On his bedside table are a vase of lilies. 

 

* * *

 

It’s January 2015 and Steve is organizing DVDs in the communal living room. He hums to himself in the silence, relishing in his time alone. He startles at the sound of a familiar, accented voice, however.

“Those are not your dogtags.”

Steve turns to see Pietro sprawled across the couch. He has one leg thrown over the arm, his head resting on the cushion. He and Pietro haven’t talked much since they watched the sunset on the Barton’s farm, but Pietro has appeared more comfortable around the supersoldier recently.

“It’s not fair to use your power to sneak up on people,” Steve chides.

“You would do it too if you had power cool enough, though,” Pietro smirks. “Admit it.”

“We’re not having this conversation. And my powers _are_ cool,” Steve jabs a finger in Pietro’s direction. “What were you saying about dog tags?”

“The ones you wear. They do not have your name on them.” Steve looks down. The shirt he is wearing today dips low in his chest, displaying Bucky’s dog tags around his neck.

“No,” Steve agrees. “They’re not mine. They’re a friend of mine’s.”

“He is dead?” Pietro asks.

“No, not dead. Just… lost.”

Pietro nods slowly. “Shame.”

“Yes,” Steve nods as well. “It is.”

“You didn’t ask why I left.”

“Why you left where?” Steve asks, folding his legs in front of him. He is still sitting on the floor, watching Pietro speak from the couch.

“Clint’s house. You didn’t ask why I left, you just followed.”

“Wasn’t my business,” Steve says with a shrug.

“It’s because I’m not an Avenger.” Pietro doesn’t sound remorseful. He speaks the words like truth. “He named his son after me and I’m not even an Avenger.”

“Well technically, you are,” Steve begins. Pietro shakes his head and looks away, eyes trained on the ceiling.

“No, I am not. I fought for Ultron.”

“But you saved Clint’s life. Kind of cancels things out, don’t you think so?” Steve suggested.

“No, I do not think so.” Pietro stood and watched Steve for a moment, before disappearing in a blur.

 

* * *

 

It’s July of 2016 and Steve is watching machines through pristine glass. His uniform is still dirty, and blood streaks his hair, but it didn’t seem important to change. He watches numbers on monitors he doesn’t understand, and Stark yells orders to Banner, who taps a vial of dark red blood. Pietro lies still.

Steve watches. He doesn’t feel the effects of the poison any longer. He isn’t sure if he ever really felt it. His body feels shaky and weak, as though his nerves were vibrating.

Wanda stands beside him. They don’t talk, but they share in the tense silence. After several moments -- or perhaps it was hours -- she presses in close to Steve. He wraps a heavy arm around her shoulders, and together they watch.

 

* * *

 

It’s May of 2015 and Steve is marching beside Fury, who is talking as fast as Pietro runs. Pietro is not running this time, though. He matches Steve step for step.

“He turned himself in,” Fury says. “About midnight last night. He’s been in the interrogation room since early this morning. He isn’t injured, and so far he’s been cooperative.”

Pietro didn’t know who they are talking about, but he is perceptive. He doesn’t miss the way Steve touches the dog tags around his neck, and the dark flash of zeros on his forearm. Pietro feels as though he might be walking to meet Steve’s soul mate. Something about that breaks his heart.

 

* * *

It’s March of 2015 and Pietro watches Steve as he speaks to the team. Pietro studies the slope of Steve’s lips and the arch of his back and thinks of how the zeros on their arms match. He thinks about what Steve said the night before about not getting along with his soul mate.

Pietro watches Steve smile. He forces himself to look away.

 

* * *

 

It’s May of 2014 and Steve watches Pietro laugh with his sister. He looks tired, but very much alive. Steve takes in his flashy white hair and his wide grin and lets out a sigh of relief.

“Damn good thing he lived,” Clint says quietly. He’s watching Pietro as well.

“Yeah,” Steve agrees. “Yeah it is.”

“Stupid fucking kid. Has no sense of self preservation.”

“Guess he fits right in, then.”

 

* * *

 

It’s May of 2014 and Pietro is saying, “I should have died.”

Wanda shakes her head. “Perhaps. I’m glad you didn’t, though.”

“Of course _you_ are,” Pietro snorts. He is ripping an old napkin into tiny pieces, systematically destroying it. Wanda wishes he’d stop. “But is anyone _else_?”

“Clint is. And I think Natasha likes us. Steve too.”

Pietro lets out a grating laugh. “Steve hates me.”

“He left flowers at your bedside. That doesn’t sound like hate to me.”

Pietro considers this a moment. Even growing up in Sokovia, he had known Captain America’s name almost as long as he’d known his own. He was written about in history books, and when he emerged from the ice his whole city held their breath. Captain America didn’t like him. Captain America left flowers because he was noble, and righteous. Not because he was affectionate.

 

* * *

 

It’s July of 2016 and Tony is explaining inhibitors. “Agonists and antagonists,” he says briskly. “They’re neurotransmitters designed to block synaptic functions. It took us a while to find them all, but he’s good as new, now.”

“He has his powers back?” Steve asks. Wanda’s wide eyes mirror his.

“He should,” Bruce answers. “We’ll have to see about when he wakes up. But I am positive he’ll make a full recovery.”

“Good,” Wanda says with a tone of finality. Steve, however, is not finished.

“Why did I feel it then?” All eyes round on him, and he is pinned beneath three identical gazes.

“Feel what?” Wanda asks.

“When he got hit, when they injected him. Why did I feel it?”

“You… You shouldn’t have,” Bruce begins cautiously. Wanda looks just as confused as Bruce. Tony is the only one who looks like he might understand. In a usual Stark fashion, however, he doesn’t explain right away.

“Good question, pal,” Tony says, clapping Steve on the shoulder. “Mind if I get a quick sample of your blood? I’ll run a few tests.”

Wanda watches Steve as he follows Tony to his lab. She stands beside Bruce for several moments in silence, before finally asking what she’d meant to a long time ago.

“Bruce, who is Steve’s soul mate?”

“Umm,” Bruce frowns. “I don’t know. He doesn’t talk about it. I know he has zeros.”

“I see,” Wanda hums, turning in the direction of her brother’s room.

“I bet he’ll tell you if you ask him.”

“I bet he won’t.”

 

* * *

 

It’s May of 2015 and Pietro watches Steve watch Bucky. The new man is dirty and has deep bruises under his eyes but Steve looks at him like he’s the sun. Agent Hill is in the room with him, speaking to him softly. Steve watches through the one way glass, and Pietro stands beside him.

The man is Steve’s soul mate, Pietro is sure of it. He tries to identify the man’s soul mark, but it is absent. His arm is not flesh, but sleek metal. Even still, it makes sense. The Winter Soldier. Captain America’s enemy in everything but heart. Pietro knows of the Winter Soldier, of course. He can’t believe he didn’t guess it before.

Pietro watches Steve. Watches the way he swallows thickly, and blinks rapidly, and the way his strong fingers tug at the tags around his neck. Pietro reaches out a hand before he can stop himself, wrapping his own fast fingers around Steve’s. Steve jerks his gaze away from the Winter Soldier to look at Pietro, but he doesn’t pull away.

“Do these belong to him?”

“They used to,” Steve answers, his eyes wet. Pietro doesn’t look away as he lets his hand trail down Steve’s palm, across his wrist. His touch is feather soft.

“And these?” Pietro asks, tracing the zeros with his index fingers. Steve releases the tags and drops his hand slightly, turning his palm upward so the numbers are exposed. He stares at them for a moment before letting out a weak laugh.

“I wish they did.”

Pietro catches Steve’s elbow in his left hand, his right still tracing the shape of the numbers. They both watch Pietro’s movements, neither pulling away. “He is not your soul mate?” Pietro asks softly. It isn’t his usual tactless wit, this time his words are gentle and comforting.

“No.”

“But you love him?”

Steve lets out a broken sounding sob, his shoulders hunching.

“Always have.”

“Then it is still painful,” Pietro whispers, slipping his fingers between Steve’s and turning back to watch the interrogation. Steve clutches tightly to Pietro’s hand and turns as well.

 

* * *

 

It’s July of 2016 and Wanda is saying, “I felt it too, you know.” Her and Steve are seated opposite each other in Pietro’s room. He lay sleeping between them. Steve looks up to meet Wanda’s eyes. He throws his hands in the air in exasperation.

“Exactly! You’re an enhanced, too. That’s what Rumlow said he was going for. He came up with a serum that would affect other enhanced through association…” Steve trails off as Wanda begins shaking her head.

“No, you misunderstand me. I felt it because I feel everything with him. He is my twin. We are connected here,” she presses a hand to her chest. “You are not his twin. So why did you feel it?”

Steve is at a loss. He stares at Wanda for a few more seconds, then looks toward Pietro. He studies the pointed face, the bruises under his eyes.

“I felt it when he got shot, too. I thought… I thought it was just because I was there. Sympathy pains. Now I’m not so sure.”

“I am not sure, either,” Wanda says slowly. She considers Steve for several moments. She thinks of lilies, and the soft way he had carried her brother when he was injured. She thinks of Captain America, and then she thinks of Steve Rogers, because really, they are very different people, but neither is bad. Neither is cruel.

“I’m not sure what it means,” Wanda repeats. “But I think it’s good.”

“Good?”

“Pietro needs somebody like you.”

 

* * *

 

It’s October of 2015 and Pietro is sparring with Natasha. She is laughing, because he doesn’t seem to understand their ‘no power’ rule. “The fight isn’t fair,” She says in exasperation. “What happens if you lose your powers someday, huh? Then what? You’ll have no experience with any other form of fighting.”

“If I lose my powers,” Pietro says, darting to her left flank. “I will skip town with my Avenger’s credit card.”

Natasha laughs again and begins unwrapping her hands. She tugs off her sweatshirt, stretching in just her tank top. Pietro watches, and for a moment Natasha feels exposed, until she realizes he isn’t staring at her breasts or hips, he staring at her arm. Natasha straightens up, and waves her hand to catch his attention.

“Eyes up here, pal,” She teases, watching him jerk his face up, a blush crawling to his cheeks.

“I wasn’t… I…” He stutters, waving his hands in an attempt to explain. Natasha smiles.

“My mark, right?” Pietro just nods. “I don’t know who my soul mate is, so don’t bother asking.”

“I know,” Pietro blurts. “Steve told me.”

“Steve’s spreading rumors now, is he?”

“No! Well, I… I asked.”

“You did?” Natasha might not know her soul mate, but she knows enough to know it isn’t Pietro. She hopes he isn’t barking up the wrong tree.

“I was just curious,” Pietro shrugs. “When was it?”

“Eight years ago,” She answers. “On a mission in Ukraine. There’s a space of about three days that it could have been. I was hospitalized during that time period. Could have been a doctor or a nurse who worked on me when I was out… Could have been the shooter. Who knows.”

“Doesn’t it bother you?” Pietro looked small.

“No,” Natasha shakes her head, dropping her eyes. “In our line of work, it’s better not to have a soul mate.”

“I imagine you’re right.”

 

* * *

 

It’s October 2015 and Steve stumbles into Pietro’s room. He isn’t sure why he’s here, but it feels safe. Pietro looks up from where he sits on the couch with Wanda, furiously shuffling a deck of card. Pietro loved gambling. He particularly loved cheating at it. But now wasn’t a time for gambling. Steve looks completely wrecked, and Pietro immediately jumps to his feet.

“Out,” he whispers to Wanda, stepping forward to meet Steve. Wanda lets out a huff, before slipping from the room.

“Steve,” Pietro greets hesitantly. Steve stands near the entryway. His shoulders are trembling, and his eyes dart around the room.

“Hi,” Steve shudders. “I umm.. I don’t really know why I’m here I just…”

Pietro darts forward, gripping Steve’s shoulders and directing him toward the couch. He sets Steve down, and disappears. He was back before Steve could blink, however, pressing a water bottle into Steve’s hand and positioning himself on the cushion beside the supersoldier. Steve blinks slowly, and takes a sip of the water.

“Did you talk to him?” Pietro asks, gauging Steve’s reaction. Steve nods slowly, and a melancholy smile spreads across his face.

“It’s weird, you know? I’ve known Bucky my entire life, but that man in there… That’s not Bucky.”

“Does he remember you?”

“Yes, some of me. He remembers… fighting me. And--” Steve breaks off in choked laughter. Pietro presses closer to him on the couch. “He asked me about when we were young. He asked if we went to baseball games.”

“Did you?”

“Yeah, we did. Whenever we could. But, well, we didn’t have a lot of money. But we made it work. And my mom, she was a saint. She… She gave us all she had… And when Bucky was seventeen he took a job down at the docks, and one time he had some extra money and he bought me four new graphite pencils. I know that doesn’t seem like much but it meant everything to me.”

Steve looks away when he finishes speaking. His cheeks are flushed, and he wipes at his eyes callously. Pietro takes a quiet breath, and presses his shoulder against Steve’s.

“Just after our parents died, we ended up in an orphanage, Wanda and I. And once Wanda found an old GameBoy in a thrift store and… well she stole it for me. It was… It mattered to me. Just like graphite pencils mattered to you.”

Steve watches Pietro carefully. There is understanding there, similar childhoods experienced over sixty years apart. Between losing their parents and then themselves to Hydra, the two were more alike than they liked to acknowledge. Maybe that’s why it feels so safe between the two of them, so easy. Pietro understands, and listening is what he’s good at. So he does just that.

Steve tells him about life before the fall, and how Bucky used to be, and about his fears for what comes next. And Pietro listens. And all the while he mourns for Steve’s real soulmate, wherever they might be. He feels sorrow for them, and the fact that they are not experiencing what Pietro is, that they don’t get to see this hero of a man the way Pietro does.

 

* * *

 

It’s July of 2016 and the nurse is checking Pietro’s vitals. Steve and Wanda still sit at his bedside, talking to one another, but keeping the conversation light. Steve is talking about training with Bucky, and his prediction for when The Winter Soldier will be able to join the team for good, when he catches sight of a flash of bare skin. The nurse twists Pietro’s arm, checking his IV, and reveals a dark mark along his pale skin.

Steve studies the numbers. Memorizes the way they look against his skin, a part of the boy Steve had never been allowed to see. It feels coveted, feels as though Steve is stealing this from the boy while he was injured. But he couldn’t look away. The numbers were beautiful, and so very sad. A solid row of ten zeros, the end of a countdown.

Steve stops mid-sentence, his voice frozen in his throat. The conversation they’d had about soul mates, the one that seemed so far away now, it began to make sense. The world stands still.

“Steve?” Wanda asks after the nurse leaves. Steve’s face is pale, and he seems to have stopped breathing.

“Who is Pietro’s soul mate?” Steve asks, not looking away from his mark.

“That is not my information to disclose.”

“You have to tell me, Wanda. Please.” Steve doesn’t use his commander voice. Instead it is weak, and all the more powerful against Wanda’s resolve.

“He does not know them.”

 

* * *

 

It’s July of 2016 and Tony is saying, “Bruce look at this.” He flicks his hand in Bruce’s direction, displaying a hologram of Steve’s red blood cells in front of the other scientist. Bruce nods, taking note of the name tag.

“Steve’s blood. What about it?”

“This,” Tony says, flicking a second hologram beside the first. “Is Maximoff’s.”

Bruce examines the two. He looks for similarities in the cell shape, in the way they move, in _anything_. He finds none. “I don’t understand. They are nothing alike.”

“Exactly!” Tony waves his hand, vanishing the two displays. He replaces them with a third one. “They aren’t only _nothing alike_ , they are _completely different_. Look, here’s the two mixed.”

“You mixed Steve’s blood with Pietro’s?”

“Sure did. Look at the way the cells interact. Watch how they move if I add a virus.” Tony turned his back a moment, tinkering with the microscope. Bruce watched as the cells attacks the virus, demolishing it within seconds. “They compliment each other. They fill the holes of the other.”

“Wonderful,” Bruce grins, watching the display with awe. “What exactly does that mean, though?”

Tony doesn’t answer, just watches Bruce with wild brown eyes, alight with excitement.

 

* * *

 

It’s July of 2016 and Steve is pacing Pietro’s room. “When did he zero out? Wanda, you’re his sister, you have to know that.”

“I do know,” She answers slowly. “But I do not believe that is my place to tell you. Ask him yourself.”

“I would if I could!” Steve throws his hand in the air in frustration. “But I can’t! So I’m asking you.”

“My brother’s soulmark is of no concern to you!” They are yelling now, both standing and glaring at one another.

“It is if he’s my soul mate!”

 

* * *

 

It’s July of 2016 and Pietro is waking up to Wanda beside his bedside. She smiles at him and strokes his hair. Pietro sits up on his elbows, and looks to his right, expecting to see Steve. The room is vacant, however.

The vase on his bedside table is empty.

 

* * *

 

It’s May of 2015 and Pietro is trembling. There were only two possibilities. He knew everyone in the Hydra facility, knew every member of the surrounding village. None of them brought his countdown to zero.

But the Avengers, the Avengers he did not know. He met every member during that battle in Sokovia, and had narrowed his possibilities down to two: Steve and Natasha. Tony had Pepper, Bruce still had two years on his clock. Clint had Laura, and Thor had Jane. But Steve and Natasha, they had zeros.

Beautiful, haunting zeros.

But Natasha met her mate eight years ago, long before Pietro had.

That left Steve. But looking at Steve was like looking at the sun. And loving him was just as hard.

 

* * *

 

It’s September of 2016 and Steve still hasn’t returned. Sam said he was doing a solo recon mission, Natasha said he was finishing off Hydra, the Vision said he was visiting Thor. But in truth, no one _really_ knew. They just knew he was gone, left before Pietro could wake up.

Wanda didn’t tell her brother about their conversation. Tony didn’t tell him what complimenting cells meant. Bucky didn’t tell him that Steve only left like this when his whole world had fallen apart.

Instead they let Pietro mourn. This time not for being given a love he didn’t want, but for having it ripped away.

 

* * *

 

It’s June of 2015 and Steve watches Pietro is battle. He’s hard to watch, of course, because he’d never still for long. But when he is, he’s magnificent. He’s all power and pride and the best damn thing Steve’s ever seen.

He catches Steve’s eye from across the field, and is at his side in an instant. He has a reckless grin on his face, and a light in his eyes Steve will never tire of seeing.

“North corner,” Steve tells him. “We need to check the bank for civilians.”

Pietro nods once, and then quirks an eyebrow. “You’re coming with me right?”

“Only if you slow down enough for me to follow.”

Pietro pauses then, for just a moment. Steve was talking about battle, he was talking about footsteps and metabolism and line of fire. He wasn’t talking about trust or the future. But for a minute Pietro could pretend that he was. He paused, and let himself believe that when Steve said he would follow him, he meant until the end of the world.

“I could try,” Pietro says with a quick wink. Steve returned it, and Pietro wished he understood.

 

* * *

 

It’s September of 2016 and Steve is walking through the doors of the Avenger’s facility. He’s met with warm welcomes as well as angry expressions. He explains his time away, and he does not speak to Pietro. Pietro, however, speaks to him.

“You just fucking left?” Pietro growls, cornering Steve in his room. Steve doesn’t look up from where he is unpacking his bag. “You didn’t even wait for me to wake up?”

“I was assured that you would be fine. It wasn’t personal, Pietro.” Steve continued to fold shirts.

Pietro lets out a growl, darting forward and shoving Steve’s bag off the table it rested on. Steve regards him with calm eyes.

“It feels fucking personal. You saved my life and then disappeared. I wanted you to be there when I woke up. And you weren’t.” Pietro was trembling.

“I’m sorry,” Steve begins, but Pietro isn’t finished.

“You can’t leave like that. I don’t have a family, Steve. I have a sister, and I have you. Okay? You. I have you and you can’t just run away whenever you want.”

“Why, because that’s your thing?” Steve was defensive now, squaring his shoulders and taking a step toward the boy. He didn’t want this to come to blows, but he feared it might. “I couldn’t sit there and watch you lie in that bed, _again_.”

“Well I needed you to!” Pietro was yelling. “I needed to wake up and know you were there and I needed you to tell me that I was okay and that I still had my powers. Not Wanda, not Stark. You. I needed it to be you. And instead I woke up to them telling me that they didn’t know where you were.”

“Why me?” Steve lowers his voice. “Why couldn’t it have been Wanda?”

Pietro opens his mouth to speak, but snaps it shut. He wants this conversation to end, wants to run. But that’s exactly what Steve expects him to do. So he stands still, frozen in fear and anticipation. Pietro has a sharp tongue and even sharper wit, but this time he bites his words. He knows the answer, just not how to say it. Steve steps forward, grabbing Pietro’s shoulders in his large hands, holding him steady.

“Say it,” Steve commands. “Tell me why.”

Pietro doesn’t. He kisses Steve instead.

 

* * *

 

It’s August of 1930 and Sarah Rogers is watching her bright eyed boy. He is tracing her soul numbers, fascinated by their appearance, as well as his own lack of numbers.

“Mom,” he asks softly. “What are soul mates for?”

“What are they _for_?” Sarah repeats, threading her fingers through her son’s soft hair. Steve nods in affirmation.

“Well, you know, I don’t know for sure. I guess they’re for loving you, all the time, even when you mess up. And they’re for understanding, even when you don’t.”   

“Do they love you forever?”

“Until the day you die.”

  
  


 

**Author's Note:**

> I was completely taken by Age of Ultron, and Pietro in particular, as I'm sure you can tell. 
> 
> I haven't decided if I should continue this or not. Leave me a comment and let me know! Hope you enjoy!


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